


Tank

by PhoebeshipsNellis



Series: Left 4 Dead Special Infected [2]
Category: Left 4 Dead, Left 4 Dead 2
Genre: Apocalypse, Different Perspective, Other, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 02:38:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3793579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoebeshipsNellis/pseuds/PhoebeshipsNellis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tank's Story, ft. Ellis and Smoker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tank

Tank sat, shone down harshly on by the glaring sun through the opening overhead of the stadium, and peacefully emptied his small mind. His figure cast a large shadow over the stadium and he sat in the bleachers, taking up more than 8 seating places at once. His purple tongue waggled out of the missing piece of jaw and his small beady eyes scanned the stage, decorated with ancient guitars and keyboards. He rolled his large fists onto his lap, tiny by comparison, and awaited the next fumbling small set of uneasy humans.

Tank stared at the entrance where a noise would alert him of the incoming meal-to-be and with his tongue ready, waggling, the suspense slowly died away as nothing came to interest him. He grew bored and began to poke a bullet hole, buried in his tough, leathery skin, running his large finger over it and feeling its uneven and mutilated surface. He let out the best sigh he could.

Uttering, he stared up at the dark sky with speckled pieces of glitter scattered across. He wondered what it was. Was it a dome keeping him in? Was it just the roof of this place? A question he couldn’t ask would never be answered because to him, he didn’t know what he could say about it. A soft sound whimpered in the distant and Tank quickly toppled on to his feet. A small, wearing boy stared around the corner, shooting down a single zombie which had been approaching him lazily. Tank paused as he stayed unnoticed by the boy. His face had few lines of visible skin, with dirty paths around the lines of skin on his face, and blood had flowered underneath his chin, painting the boy a murky maroon colour all over. Tank in utter fascination began to grow with excitement.

 Maybe he could be like Tank!

Tank could help him be like Tank!

He could be happy like Tank!

Tank began to hurl himself about, enthusiastic with the idea that the young boy with the golden locks would want to be just like him. The rumbling of Tank’s large fists hitting the ground and throwing his body forward, in a repetitive fashion, had alerted the boy. Trembling with his shotgun, he began to reload it as he howled in prayer. Tears rolled down his face as he stumbled away.

“No need to be that way!” Tank yelled. “If you see what you can be, you will be like me!”

The boy, with no understanding of what the large beast had roared, jumped onto the benches and ran across them, gasping for breath and clutching his shotgun against his bloodied and beaten chest.

“TANK!” The boy cried, in desperation for someone to hear his cry for help. He scampered around and swept up some ammo as Tank kept on his tail, shaking the very ground under the boys boots as they went.

A sudden wheezing could be heard from afar and the boy let out another cry, almost paining Tank to hear and firing his perseverance to make this boy forget the agonising emotions he felt. The boy kept saying prayers as he sprayed bullets in Tank’s direction and at the emerging cloud of smoke.

Why would he hurt Tank?

Tank is only trying to help?

“Oh please, god!” The small voice sobbed before rocketing a bottle at Tank. It hit him and burst flowering flames of orange across Tank. Tank roared in pain and toppled out of the flame ring, with persistent bursts of red and yellow still clinging to his body, sizzling his seemingly tough skin.

Smoker had let out a yell before the small boy had been in shock as he began to be drew in, the tightening, slippery tongue tightening around him. Firing few desperate shots, the Smoker’s grasp released and he tumbled to the ground. The boy gathered himself as he stared at the again-deceased freak, before setting off to race around the stadium away from Tank.

Enraged, Tank quickly caught up to the sweating and anxious boy who obviously ached in pain and prayed for a break, Tank roared. “Why would you hurt my friend?!”

The boy turned and began to shoot desperately, firing rapidly before his gun made an empty click and he quickly began to reload, exclaiming he was doing so. Tank managed to get close enough to throw the boy a distance away. He watched the mustard body collapse and get on to his feet and, digging his blunt hands into the concrete, he loosened a piece which he then hurled at the boy. It shattered against him and with a loud sound released from the boys bleeding mouth, he was reduced into nothing more than a huddled statute. He hobbled away with his best speed he could manage and Tank quickly caught up easily.

“I want to help!” Tank yelled, eager for the boy to understand, but his only reply came a very hurt cry. A cry that brought back a pain in Tank. One that pierced straight into his stomach, he had been unaware existed, past his bruised and mutilated ribs. A sudden desire to crush the boy overcame Tank and destroy that feeling with him.

Tank didn’t want to feel it.

Tank didn’t want to know about it.

Tank wanted it gone.

With a sudden hurl he had launched the boy, in a blind fury of rage, and he had crumbled upon landing, falling into nothing more than a whimpering ball of innocence. A small outstretched hand was produced from inside the ball and small little pierces of actual pain were spread throughout Tank and as he had reached the thing. A small final pain had caused a large shock to race through his bones before he could land his final blow and his large, unproportioned body became paralyzed. Tank stared down at the sobbing boy before numbing and toppling backwards. He fell slowly just as a tower would and as he did, the night sky lit up, gleaming ever so beautifully. Tank roared, desiring to be absorbed into the large area above, before dying down into emptiness.

The small boy lay wasting away as he watched the body of the Tank fall even more motionless over time. He released his small pistol from his hand and stared at the stars, with the knowledge that Tank desired, knowing that there was more out there in between and past those aligned swarms of golden. Maybe Tank wouldn’t have felt so alone and different if he had only known.

Tank wanted to know.

Tank wanted to belong.

Tank could have belonged.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think of this series! Shall I keep it going?


End file.
